


Shades of Scarlett Conquering

by subversivegrrl



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 00:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15061061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subversivegrrl/pseuds/subversivegrrl
Summary: Carol and Daryl take refuge in a house that brings up disquieting memories of Carol’s youth.





	Shades of Scarlett Conquering

**Author's Note:**

> This thing started out from a prompt (“crushed velvet” - not even lying) from @rhinozilla’s Op Levity list on Tumblr, and then went in some strange directions. Published back then (2014) on Nine Lives, but apparently I never got around to sharing it here. 
> 
> If you're curious about the piece of furniture mentioned, here's the inspiration: http://curbed.com/archives/2012/07/20/behold-the-california-bedroom-crushed-under-red-velvet.php Not precisely shell-shaped, but you get the idea.

_...it is not easy to be brave_

_To walk around in so much need_

_To carry the weight of all that greed_

_Dressed in stolen clothes she stands_

_Cast iron and frail_

_With her impossibly gentle hands..._

_Out of the fire and still smoldering_

_She says "A woman must have everything"_

\- Joni Mitchell, “Shades of Scarlett Conquering”

One solid kick next to the door handle broke the latch free, and Carol piled in behind Daryl, grabbing a heavy cast metal chair from the patio set inside to wedge it under the knob, but they could both see that the wide windows of the sunporch would offer no cover or resistance if the pursuing walkers caught up with them.

“Gonna look like all-you-can-eat buffet,” Daryl panted. “C’mon.” He shoved his shoulder against the door into the house and practically fell inside as the handle turned easily under his grip. Carol followed as he leveled his crossbow and made a cautious sweep around the large, wood-paneled room. A thick coating of dust lay over the casual furniture and swirled around their footsteps, and the air was tinged with an odor of rot that told them they probably weren’t alone.

In the silence Carol felt a chill slide up her spine. She always hated this part - charging uninvited into what had been someone’s home, ransacking it for the usable leavings of the original occupants. It felt like an invasion of their privacy, or worse, like she had become some kind of lawless vagrant, smashing and looting with no regard for the lives that had played out there. No matter how many times they’d had to do it, and no matter how often she tried to convince herself that this was the way they had to survive now, she never found it any easier.

She took a deep breath of the stale, damp air, setting aside her misgivings for the moment, but she couldn’t shake the sense of uneasiness. If anything, she thought, she should have felt more comfortable here instead of less - she’d grown up in a house eerily similar to this one. Same split-level construction, same rumpus room, same ping-pong table - she almost expected to see her own family pictures hanging on the walls.

There were differences, of course - over there, against the far wall, would have been the wet bar where her father mixed drinks for their friends, and in the corner there should have been a round table where for years her parents had played euchre every Friday night with Mr. and Mrs. Hammond.

* * *

  _ **1974**_

_She stayed in bed until she heard her mother take the last tray of hors d’oeuvres down to the rec room. “I’ve got crab-stuffed mushrooms and rumaki - everybody come get a plate before they get cold!” Then she scurried down the hall and crouched on the third step so she could put her face to the gap between the stairs and watch them, laughing and smoking, one of her father’s jazz records playing on the stereo. Carol thought it was the most glamorous thing imaginable, to be a grown-up and throw fancy parties. Her favorite times were when they had a big group of people over, all dancing in their dressiest clothes. Her father was usually happy those nights._

_“Carol Ann, I better not catch you spying on the stairs again, young lady, or I’ll have to tan your be-hind!” She jumped as her father’s voice boomed out, and she tiptoed back to her room and slid under the covers._

* * *

Ahead of them, a flight of stairs opened onto a combined living and dining area, then reversed direction and continued up to a second level. They eased their way up and into the open area, passing the adjoining kitchen, and Carol kept her knife out, ready to back Daryl up.

They both froze as they heard the groans, and the home’s former occupant lurched out of a powder room, greedy hands outstretched. A bolt flew from Daryl’s crossbow, and he reloaded and led the way up the stairs.

Daryl made it plain by his silent direction that Carol was to hang back and let him take point, but after a quick recon of the upstairs rooms he relaxed and let his bow drop to his side, satisfied the rest of the place was clear. The rec room’s refrigerator made an effective barricade of the door where they’d entered, and they shifted a heavy leather couch to block the front entrance. “That picture window’s like an advertisement,” Daryl scowled. “Can’t stay here.”

“Well, we can’t leave, either,” Carol pointed out. “I say we go back up - that way we’ve only got the one access to cover. Wait them out. If they push in down here, we can still go out a window.”

“Good a plan as any,” Daryl said, and they made their way to the upper level.

* * *

_The stereo had gone quiet, and in the silence her father's voice carried clearly through the house. "Goddamnit, Caroline, what the hell is wrong with you tonight? You knew I had that trick." Her mother's answer was unintelligible, but held a placating note Carol recognized from too many other Friday nights._

_She heard the Hammonds come up the stairs, pleading the late hour and too much to do the next day, and her mother's strained, tired voice. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe I screwed up that hand. I don't know what I was thinking of. Please don't think badly of Jack. He's just tense - things are pretty hectic down at the office, and there's a lot of pressure on him."_

_The front door closed, and Carol could hear her mother moving around the kitchen, tidying up empty glasses and putting away the leftover food. Then heavy footsteps, and the clatter of a dropped pan. Her mother cried out, and her father's voice growled something low and menacing while her mother sobbed, the sound forming a knot in Carol's stomach._

_Later, she could hear them in their bedroom down the hall. "I'm sorry I yelled at you, Caroline. But you bring it on yourself." The voices got soft as the door closed, and after a while she heard the rhythmic bumping noise that told her they were making up. That's what her mother called it, at least._

_"Caroline" sounded too much like "Carol Ann" on her father’s lips, and nine-year-old Carol could never rid herself of the feeling that somehow her father’s anger and her mother's tears were all her fault._

* * *

During their initial sweep she hadn’t really had the opportunity to take much note of their surroundings, and now as Carol poked her head into each room her sense of _deja vu_ grew by the moment.

“Good lord,” she marveled aloud, standing in the bathroom door. “I don’t think most of this place has been touched since it was first decorated.” The fixtures and tile were aqua, clashing stunningly with the bile-green shag carpet in the hall.

She opened the door at the end of the hall and felt like she’d stepped back in time. Her room had been a sunny yellow instead of Pepto-Bismol pink, but the rest was oh-so-familiar - she’d dreamed of horses and handsome princes beneath a frilly bedspread much like this one, surrounded by the same pile of stuffed animals. The dresser with its embroidered runner, even the jewelry box - Carol knew if she opened it she would find a tiny ballerina that spun to the tune of the music box inside. _Whose room was this, that had been left like a shrine to some long-ago teenaged girl?_

The poster of Shaun Cassidy on the wall above the white wicker bed was the same one her cousin Sandy had had in her bedroom, and on the back of the door was a life-sized image of Mark Spitz, wearing nothing but his seven Olympic medals and a star-spangled Speedo.

* * *

_**1977** _

_"Did your whore of a mother buy this for you? She's bound and determined you're going to turn out just like her, isn't she? letting a twelve year old hang a naked man on her bedroom wall. It's indecent."_

_"Daddy, don't," Carol cried._

_The heavy paper tore jaggedly across the swimmer's body, and her father savagely ripped the rest down, leaving only the upper corners where she'd thumb-tacked them to the plaster._

_The alcohol on his breath washed over her. "Clean this mess up, now, and get your butt downstairs. Your mother's got dinner ready."_

* * *

Carol peered through the sheer curtains at the driveway below. No walkers in sight, but it was still far too soon to venture out again. She shrugged off her pack, dropping it to the floor, and took a seat, looking around at the small room that had been converted into a home office. Of all of the rooms she'd seen, it bore the fewest remnants of the era when the home would have been new and outfitted in the most up-to-date style.

They’d been lucky thus far - the small herd that had blocked their path back to the truck and driven them to take shelter in this house didn’t seem to have figured out where they’d gotten to. It nearly drove her crazy to sit around blindly waiting the things out, hoping they’d get distracted by some other stimulus and wander off, but she had no intention of accidentally revealing their whereabouts just so she could see how many were left. From the angle of the sun through the curtains, she and Daryl were already going to be stuck there for the night.

They hadn’t intended to be gone even this long, although as usual they’d packed water and enough travel rations to get them through a few days if needed. Carol found herself automatically making a frustrated list in her head, thinking of all of the work that she wasn’t getting done while they were stuck in this time warp. It was a life-long habit - sorting through her to-dos, making plans - and it usually served to take her mind off things she couldn’t control.

* * *

  _ **1982, Summer**_

_"Carol Ann, would you come over here a moment, sweetheart?" Her father wore his most charming smile, and Carol could hardly ignore his request without looking childish. "Honey, I’d like you to meet Ed Peletier. His daddy and I do some business together. Ed's home from college for the summer, and I thought the two of you might hit it off." Ed had a reckless grin and a short crop of curly hair, and Carol had to admit he was handsome and well-built, if maybe a bit too cocky for her liking._

_For the rest of the afternoon Ed was like her shadow, bringing her cold drinks and complimenting her on her dress, her blue eyes, and (under his breath so no one else could hear) the shape of her backside. Carol blushed and got tongue-tied, unused to such ardent male attentions. By the time the barbecue wrapped up late that evening, worn down by his pleas, she'd agreed to go out with him, even though she wasn't really interested in getting involved. She was doing a lot of extra reading over the summer and preparing to submit her college applications in the fall, and she didn't have time for distractions._

* * *

**_1982, Fall_ **

_"It's not very nice to tease a guy all night and then leave him hanging," Ed said, sneering._

_"I'm sorry, Ed, but I have to go now. My dad will be waiting up for me," For once Carol was grateful to have her father's hovering presence to call on. She leaned over to give Ed a peck on the cheek and gasped as he grabbed her wrist and pulled her almost into his lap, jamming his tongue between her lips and squeezing her breast hard with the other hand._

_"Next time you won't say no," Ed rasped, a predatory gleam in his eye. "I'll be back in two weeks, and before the weekend's over you'll be mine."_

_Carol slid out the passenger side door and stood cradling her bruised wrist, watching as Ed spun out of the driveway. Behind her she heard the front door open, and her father called out, "Better get inside, Carol Ann. You and I need to talk."_

_Carol sighed, dreading the grilling she knew was coming. She should have just done what Ed wanted - her father already thought she was some kind of slut, so what did it matter?_

* * *

_**1983, Spring** _

_Her mother tapped on the door, and before Carol could stop her she'd pushed inside with a basket of clean laundry, stopping blankly in her tracks as she caught sight of her daughter's tear-stained face. "Oh, honey, what is it? Did you and Eddie have a fight?"_

_Guilt and terror and misery warred within her as she slowly shook her head and curled herself sideways around her favorite old teddy bear, unable to find the right words for what needed to be said. Her mother came and sat next to her on the bed, silently stroking her hair back from her face. "It must be terrible being separated from him so much," she said soothingly._

_"That's not it at all, mama." Carol pushed herself upright to sit against the headboard. "I'm late."_

_Understanding and shock bloomed in her mother's eyes, and Carol sobbed against her chest, crying for the unfairness of it all, the plans she'd made, shattering against the stark reality of a future she'd never envisioned._

_Sometime later, after all of the ugly details had come out, Carol said, "I don't know how to tell Daddy. He's going to be so disappointed in me."_

_"You leave your father to me, Carol Ann," her mother said briskly. "Your Eddie has good prospects, and I imagine once Daddy’s over the surprise, he'll be happy to have him as a son-in-law."_

_"But, mama - " Carol stumbled over the words, "I can’t marry him, I’m going to college."_

_"I don't see as you have much choice, do you, girl? You have to face facts, dear, and I’m sorry if this sounds harsh, but you certainly can’t think your father will let you continue to live under his roof otherwise. His business depends on his good reputation. A pregnant, unmarried daughter? What would people in the community think of him? "_

* * *

Down the hall in another room - likely the master bedroom, she thought - soft scrapes and thumps told her Daryl was going through closets and drawers, and she made a cursory inspection of her own on the off chance the room held something useful. Truth be told, she didn’t want anything that came out of this house. It held too many ghosts.

“Hey,” Daryl called, “come check this out.” She followed the sound to the far end of the hall and stopped in the doorway in utter disbelief. If the remainder of the house was unsettlingly familiar, this room was anything but - her elegant mother would never have stood for anything so tasteless.

The walls were covered with metallic bronze wallpaper patterned with an ornate flocked design in red, and a faux-Spanish wrought iron chandelier with red glass globes hung from one of the brown-stained fake beams that criss-crossed the ceiling. The crowning glory of the room, though - the vision of which nearly dropped Carol to her knees in shaky hysterics - was an enormous, shell-shaped bed with an arching, curved headboard upholstered in red crushed velvet, complete with matching spread and dust skirt. And lounging in the middle of it, totally relaxed, was Daryl. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his boots, and despite her uneasy laughter, Carol couldn’t help but admire the mismatched scene - the rugged man surrounded by such gaudy excess.

“Don’ laugh, it’s pretty comfy,” he drawled with a smug half-smile, his head pillowed in his palms.

Carol leaned against the door frame, nearly breathless with hilarity, shocked straight out of the mood that had gripped her. “Oh my god,” she whispered. “It looks like a brothel.”

“Yeah, like you seen the inside of so many,” Daryl mocked. “Come on over here and stretch out a minute. Promise I won’t bite.” She crawled up on the bed, feeling the ancient springs creak beneath her, and cautiously lay back on the velvet cover.

He hooked her waistband with two fingers, making her squeak with surprise, and pulled her toward the center of the bed, pressing the side of his head against hers and pointing. “Look up.”

Afterward she thought that she should have known what to expect, from the rest of the room and Daryl’s amusement. The coffered ceiling above their heads had been inset with mirrored tiles, and she stared back into her own eyes - hers and Daryl’s, side by side. In an instant she flushed bright pink from the wild thoughts that flashed through her mind, and she covered her warm cheeks with her fingertips.

“I think I heard something downstairs,” she said, and rolled quickly off the edge of the bed, rushing to the door.

Daryl eyed her as she hovered in the hallway. “Didn’t hear nothin’, m’self,” he said casually, pointedly not commenting on her rosy glow. “Gonna catch a nap. You good to stand watch for a while?”

Within minutes he was deeply asleep, and Carol crept back into the room and took a seat in the neighboring armchair - dark, clunky carved wood and well-worn, greenish-gold upholstery - propping her feet on the matching ottoman. It always amazed her how easily he could catnap like that, and at a moment’s notice be up and ready to do battle. She suspected it was the only kind of sleep he got, though - snatched when and where he could, in between extended periods of watchfulness.

It wasn’t long before Carol gave up on the uncomfortable chair and sat back down on the bed, leaning up against the headboard and watching Daryl drowse. Long strands of dark hair hid his eyes, and her fingers twitched with the impulse to smooth them out of the way. _Leave the poor man alone, Carol,_ she scolded herself. It was bad enough that her traitorous dreams were often full of him, but that was something she couldn’t control; deliberately touching him while he was defenseless was simply self-indulgent nonsense. She tucked her fisted hands under her thighs and tried to think about something calming.

Daryl shifted and mumbled in his sleep as something scraped against one of the outside walls, and Carol held her breath, waiting for the crash of breaking glass, but nothing came. She sighed and slid down onto her back, rolling her eyes as the sight of the mirrors. From this angle, she found she could watch Daryl and not feel like some kind of voyeur. It was a rare treat - to be able to study his face at rest. He looked at least ten years younger, although the dark circles under his eyes still gave him a haunted aspect. His lips were curved slightly, like he was having a pleasant dream.

Her years in this house - not _this_ house, she reminded herself - had accustomed her to giving. Giving in to her father’s control; giving up parts of herself, just as her mother had; letting go of her own wishes and dreams. Giving Ed what he wanted - a compliant, warm body he could use and then ignore once his needs had been satisfied, not caring that she might need something of her own.

The man next to her had never asked her for anything, and over the months she’d discovered to her unending surprise that she _wanted_ to give him... everything. Her trust, her confidence, her body - her heart. She felt like she had been traveling toward him all her life and never known what she was searching for until she found him - a kindred spirit, clothed in leather and dust. And despite the urge to freely give what she’d cached away for too long - she had no fear of losing herself in the process. Such a revelation, in the midst of a world gone mad.

The setting sun warmed the room, and Carol yawned, fighting a wave of drowsiness.

**She was crammed into the space between the stairs, except now it was more like a crawlspace, listening to her father roaring through the house, shouting her name. She knew that if he found her now she was dead, and she held her breath and thought about how quick she'd have to be to unfold herself and make it to the front door before he caught her and turned her into a thing just like him.**

**A rotting hand snaked through the gap and grabbed her wrist, tugging on it, and she felt herself start to slide forward and braced her feet against the riser, but it was like when she used to put a sheet of waxed paper under her on the shiny steel sliding board, slipping, slipping faster and nothing to grab onto and the friction of her momentum began to burn her skin and the hand was dragging her out through the too-small space and she _screamed_ …**

Daryl let go of her arm as she scrabbled away from him, falling awkwardly off the side of the bed and onto the floor. In her panic she ended up in the corner behind the chair, her breath coming in sobs as she huddled in the shadows. His silhouette loomed over her, and her hands came up to ward off the threat, trying to shed the last remnants of the nightmare and recall where she was. She stuffed her fist into her mouth and bit down, trying to stifle the uncontrollable noises spilling out of her.

“Carol.” Daryl’s voice came softly from the far side of the chair, where he’d retreated. “You’re okay. Gonna come get you now. Don’t fight me.” He reached down and took her hands in his, gently raising her off the floor. “C’mon.” He led her back over to the bed and pressed her down to sit at the edge. “It’s over. Just a bad dream, right?”

Carol nodded sharply, still jittery and muddled from the nightmare. “I can’t be here, Daryl,” she whispered. “They’re everywhere. In my head. I need to go.”

He shook his head. “Ain’t an option. Sun’s almost down, you know we gotta stick it out ‘til morning.”

She felt the tightness rising in her chest again and struggled to speak. “I don’t think I can do that. It’s too much.”

“I know.” He slumped onto the bed beside her. “But we ain’t got a choice.”

He pushed himself backward and caught her elbow, drawing her along with him. “Lie down here. Don’t gotta sleep, just stay close. You’re safe. I’ll keep watch.”

Carol lay on her side, watching the patterns of light and shadow play across the curtains and the beams of the ceiling as the sun passed behind the trees. She could feel Daryl at her back, waiting. Not asking.

“I’m sorry. This house… it gives me the creeps.”

“Don’t be sorry, I get it. Some places just feel - wrong.”

After a time, she said, “Someday I’ll tell you all about it,” and behind her, Daryl made some sort of noise she took as affirmation.

Later he got up and went silently down the stairs to take stock of their situation. When he came back he stood at the threshold for awhile before he said, “Just wish I could fix it for you.”

Somehow that made it easier for her to fall asleep.

She woke, and slept, and woke again. Stumbled over Daryl, asleep in the doorway, on her way to the bathroom, and made him get up and lie down on the bed with her, so he’d be able to walk in the morning. Didn’t dream again, so much as rerun conversations about plans to be made and people to be tended to. Her subconscious, trying its best to make order of chaos.

Just before dawn she woke to the sounds of Daryl moving around the room, collecting the few things he’d thought worth packing along with them. Carol retrieved her own knapsack, and together they crept downstairs and out through the rec room.

Only a few walkers remained, and those were far enough away not to present an immediate threat. Daryl pointed out their best line of retreat, and they slipped outside and headed back the way they’d come the day before. Whether they’d drawn the herd far enough away to have cleared the route to the truck would still remain to be seen.

Carol closed the door behind her and followed Daryl without a backward look.

**Author's Note:**

> And here's a pretty good (AWFUL) reference for the armchair - upholstery color and style, at least. Dear goddess let this not be a part of the '70s that gets resurrected.   
> https://www.myantiquefurniturecollection.com/couch-identification-69914.html


End file.
